“Wait, take these!” Bibb called out, forcing her to circle back and take the glossy magazines out of Hal’s outstretched hands. As she headed down the hall, mind racing, she heard echoes of all the other “helpful advice” she’d gotten over the course of her career from women in news management. From women who were just trying to be honest or just trying to be helpful or just thought you might want to know. She wondered if it was like this in other businesses. Or at other networks. What ever happened to sisterhood?

She stalked past the stairs and punched the down button on the elevator. Stairs person, she fumed. Then realizing that she was still clutching the magazines she looked around for a recycling can and, not seeing one, shoved them in the trash.

Bibb was in for a surprise. Natalie Savage was not going away. She’d stayed and covered Hurricane Leon and she would stay and cover the White House, too. Permanently.

Although, seeing her reflection in the elevator door, she decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a blowout.

3

A Suite of One’s Own

Despite the promise of its name, the Executive Comfort Inn where ATN was putting Natalie up—“Temporarily,” the woman in HR had stressed—was anything but. It was adorned with plaid drapes and a painting of a sad cowboy who looked like he was going to shoot himself. All the furniture sloped slightly toward the floor as though it had been designed by a team of sadists to ensure she could never relax. At night, Natalie kept waking up in a twisted position halfway off the bed with her forearms aching from bracing against the slope.

On the bright side, it was spacious enough to include a “living room” with a “breakfast bar,” which is where she’d eaten her dinner to-go while watching—no, torturing herself with—online clips of Ryan McGreavy’s Eat Me investigation. Her reaction careened between hilarity and horror as she watched the weekly ritual of degradation. Witness McGreavy’s determination as he polishes off a liter of rat-tailed maggots with a shot of horse semen! Enjoy McGreavy’s smoldering gaze as he and his inexplicably wet eight-pack race through the jungle and trip into a slick of rhino dung! Admire McGreavy’s craftiness as he sneaks his hidden camera into the producers’ tent, capturing proof the competition is staged. Such commitment to the truth! Such bravery in holding power to account! What a tribute to the virtue of a free press.